What makes a hero
by Allied Hero
Summary: During times of war, you can't save everyone's life. Not even if you're a hero. But sometimes, it all depends on how you look at things.


_**A/N: **__Warning: contains reference to the Holocaust. A huge thank you to dust on the wind for helping me out with this, I really appreciate it!_

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"Hey grandad, when you were fighting the war, did you know?"

The elderly man in question glanced up at his grandson expecting him to elaborate. When he didn't, the man neatly folded the newspaper he'd been reading and crossed his arms over his body. "Know about what?"

The boy was now avoiding eye contact. His head was down and he fiddled with his fingers, trying to find the right way to phrase his question. After a few moments, a barely audible mumble could be heard. "_The Jews..._"

The man sat back in surprise, wondering just how the boy had managed to find out about the atrocities committed by the Nazis. That was the one part of the war he didn't want him learning about, or at least not until he was older. He himself still couldn't comprehend the monstrous amount of lives the Nazis had managed to destroy in such a short period of time. He sighed, thinking back to his days at Stalag 13. With the help of his team, they had managed to turn a regular POW camp into a means of escape for other downed fliers and Germans under fire from the Gestapo. On top of this, they did everything they could to hinder the German war effort.

Yes, he had heard rumours. Rumours about what the Nazis were doing to the innocent people they considered sub-human. The Einsatzgruppen execution squads, the camps, the torture these people were going through. Every now and then, a contact in town would notify the team on the latest news they'd heard. Despite this, Hogan hadn't acted on it. He ignored it. Regardless of what he knew the Nazis were capable of, he had hoped so badly that these rumours weren't true. That these human beings weren't complete sadistic murderers with no conscience.

But then he was liberated, and so too were these various camps across Europe. First came the radio reports, then came the pictures. He remembered seeing the pictures of the mass graves. He remembered seeing the faces of survivors who were nothing more than skin and bone, who looked like they had lost all hope. He remembered slowly sinking into a chair, burying his face in his hands, and doing what he'd refused to do throughout the entire course of the war - he cried.

Because despite everything he had achieved throughout the war and all the lives his team had managed to save, nothing could have prepared him for the news of what had happened to these people. He had failed them. When everyone else thought Colonel Robert Hogan could never fail, he hadn't protected these people.

"Um grandad, are you okay?"

The voice snapped Hogan out of his train of thought, and he realised his eyes had been tearing up. "Oh sure," he replied, trying to muster a smile. "Listen, I'll try to explain it the best way I can. Your best friend at school, Tommo, is that his name?"

"Yeah."

"Well imagine your favourite football went missing, and someone at school told you they thought Tommo was the one who had taken it. Would you want to believe them?"

The boy didn't even have to think about it. "Of course not, he's my best friend!"

"Well that's just like what happened to me, only people were telling us about what was happening to the Jews."

"But the Nazis were the enemy, so why didn't you just believe the rumours?"

"Because even though they were the enemy, they were still human, just like us. I had prayed that the rumours I'd heard weren't true, but realised I was sadly mistaken when it was all too late. Unfortunately, this was the case for a lot of people who wish they could've helped when they had the chance. Do you see where I'm getting at now?"

The boy sat there for a moment, taking this new information in. To him, his grandfather was a hero. He had been told all about the operation in the POW camp he was in, all the adventures he'd had with his men, and all the times he'd tricked that camp leader (Fink or something) into letting them do almost whatever they wanted.

He walked up to Hogan who was still sitting in his chair, now staring out the window. The light shining through accented the wrinkles that had gradually formed on his face, no doubt from the years of running around and tricking Nazis.

"But grandad, don't you realise that you did help them?"

It was now Hogan's turn to be confused, which had become a common practice with his grandson. It was a trait he'd realised had been inherited. "How's that?"

"Everything you did in your camp helped to shorten the war, right? So that means you shortened the time all those people were prisoners. Which means you helped save lives - a lot of them."

Hogan sat there, mulling over what his grandson had pointed out. Technically, what he'd said was true. Even if it had been indirect, it brought him some comfort. Still, there was one thing he was left wondering. "Charlie, how did you find out? The Jews, I mean."

The boy looked smug. "You shouldn't leave your pictures from the army lying around."

"But they're locked up in my safe!"

"Exactly."

"Uncle Peter?"

"Right."

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**The end.**


End file.
